


We Can Win This Thing

by out_looking_in



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, giving this another shot?, it's all fluff anyway, lame writing, post-Homecoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_looking_in/pseuds/out_looking_in
Summary: "I am running for student body president and I want to be your campaign manager."





	1. For Her She-Roes

**Author's Note:**

> hi! plz enjoy these dorks trip over feelings for each other!

M.J. wasn’t going to get to Columbia. Not because she wasn’t smart enough (that was never going to be a problem) or because she didn’t have the recommendations (luckily enough her English lit teacher was fairly pleased with her excessive and unrestrained rants on why the American education reading curriculum should not just be confined to British literature). Michelle wasn’t going to get into Columbia because she was dreadfully low on extracurricular activities. Drawing people in crisis was out of the question, she didn’t think that the Columbia admissions office had that much of a sense of humor. Michelle had a fairly content life doing three things: reading, school, and breathing. Academic Decathlon was just one thing, and there wasn’t much of an essay in explaining how knowing random facts was somehow important to her educational career.

Columbia was her dream school for all the right reasons: an affiliation with a top-notch women’s college, access to a rigorous curriculum that was based on the philosophy that literature has superpowers, and the fact that it was the Ivy with the most diverse student body. Also, Obama went there. Columbia was also close to home. Her older sister Eleanor was a student at Barnard College, and M.J. couldn’t think of a more perfect graduation than looking forward to living across the street from her sister. Although, whenever her sister asked about her college plans, M.J. always replied, “I’m applying to every college on the west coast because they are inherently better, ya know, being three thousand miles away from you and all.” Eleanor just rolls her eyes.

All of this brought M.J. to the activities board on the last day of junior year, hoping to find clubs that were planning to have openings next year. A bright but simple flyer caught her eye. Watermarked with the school insignia, it advertised: “Are you an opinionated person who has serious ideas on changing Midtown for the better? Midtown High needs new leadership – signup before your senior year to apply!”

Michelle _was_ an opinionated person, as she was already leader of Decathlon. She reins in nerds for two hours three days a week, how hard can this be? Sure, M.J. spent three full years staying as far away as possible from her classmates but being able to leave high school saying that she had actually done something about Midtown’s problems, instead of just complaining about them, pleased her. She would make she-roes proud. And what better extracurricular than student government? M.J. turned to the counselor’s office to sign up to be Midtown’s next Student Council President.

 


	2. You Have To Win This Thing

Midtown students are forced to watch the morning announcements on the first day of school. (If you can call a mediocre presentation of the news, “announcements.”) (Maybe Michelle should have signed up for Midtown Media, right up her alley in terms of pursuing her dream of investigative journalism, too late now though.) M.J. was reading, drowning out the voices of her classmates/new anchors, when her biology teacher noticed Michelle not-so-discretely turn the page of the book she was reading.

“Michelle! Maybe you would like to know what’s going on in your school rather than what’s in Angela Davis’s head for a change?” she exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. Michelle knew this wasn’t a question, and she respected Mrs. Stevenson enough to not roll her eyes while she stuffed her book back into her bag while raising her eyes to the screen to prove she was going to pay attention.

 “And finally, we would like to present the names of those running for Student Council President this year. Flash Thompson . . .” Michelle rolled her eyes hard. _Of course_ he was running, because money and his daddy’s new car was never enough to show people that you are the most privileged seventeen-year-old of all time.  “. . . Harry Osborn. . .” Another rich, privileged male in the mix for the one role they should NOT be playing. “. . . and Michelle Jones.” And suddenly, M.J. had twenty-four pairs of eyes on her, including Mrs. Stevenson. Michelle kept her eyes on the screen, clenching her jaw to keep herself from blurting out something rude or insulting that would risk her votes.

“That’s out current lineup of candidates for Midtown’s Student Council. The debate is set for October 13th, exactly one week before homecoming. Happy first day of school. We out.” Mrs. Stevenson switched the projector image to a slideshow displaying this semester’s syllabus and, after a lingering confused look at Michelle, started the class.

Michelle bent down to pull a notebook from her bag. As she reached down, she caught a glimpse of Peter Parker’s expression. She didn’t notice him take the seat next to her. Peter stared at her questioningly.

“ _What?_ ” She hissed, annoyed for some reason. She glared at him until he quickly turned away, frowning. He didn’t seem to realize that he was staring. Michele pushed her frizzy bangs out of her face and tried to concentrate on what Mrs. Stevenson was saying.

Michele never ate her lunch during lunch time. She just brought out the tea she kept in her locker, still warm in the thermos, and chose one of the many books stacked in the small space. She walked down the cafeteria, reading _The Thing Around Your Neck_ in one hand and holding the silver thermos in the other. She made it to the back of the cafeteria and sat her customary five seats away from Parker and his equally, if not more, nerdy friend Ned Leeds. She swung her bag under the table and opened to her bookmarked page. None of those boys would dare try to talk to her. She kept to herself in all parts of her life (except her family). Being a loner has its perks: no one to bother you, no need to make excuses to _not_ attend parties. Liz was cool enough for M.J. to associate herself with, and so she always accepted her invitations but there was no one else like Liz at Midtown so as far as friends go, so Michelle was down back to zero (not counting the Decathlon students). (Could you count Decathlon?)

Today, however, Parker didn’t feel like keeping to his corner. Michelle felt him glancing at her every two minutes. He was making it hard to concentrate on Chimamanda Adichie’s words. M.J. turned in his direction.

 “What do you want, Parker?” she asked fiercely. He didn’t even have the shame to look embarrassed, maybe he didn’t realize he was bothering her.

“Are you really running for student council?” he asked.

M.J. turned back to her book. “Yeah, Parker, I am. You got a problem with a black woman in charge for once?” He blushed furiously.

“No! No, of-of course not!” he stammered quickly. _Gotcha_. “I was just surprised.”

M.J. rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t be late for Decathlon practice after school.” She turned back to stare him down. “I will _not_ take your lame excuses for your absences this year at all.”

Peter tried to stammer an apology, M.J. was already on her way to the library – trying to find some peace.  

* * *

 Mr. Harrington took attendance a few minutes after the last bell of the school day echoed in the auditorium. Michelle took her place at the podium, note cards ready for the first round of practice.

“Well, M.J. we’re off to a good start. We have a full house. Glad you could join us, Peter.” M.J. shot her head up in the direction Mr. Harrington’s head was turned. Peter was already looking at her. He turned slightly pink, but winked smoothly as he sat down next to Ned. M.J. glared at him, giving her toughest stare.

“Glad to be here, Mr. H,” he said as he dropped his bag at his feet.

Michelle ignored him and turned to Cindy. And no, she did _not_ focus on the fact that Peter stared at her the entire practice.

* * *

Michelle packed up her stuff after practice. At the corner of her eye, she saw Peter slowly walking up to her, but Flash was at her side first.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Flash asked angrily.

“No, Flash. You know after seventeen full years of existence, I would figure you would have realized that this is very much the reality you are living in. Sorry-not-sorry to disappoint.” She replied coolly, not even taking the time to look up at him.

“Not AcaDec, weirdo, I mean Student Council. Are you running or are you just doing this to keep reminding everyone that you need to the best at everything?” He stepped closer, but M.J. stood her ground. Michelle took a breath and gave him her most intimidating look.

“What? Afraid of some decent competition?”

“I’m not and never will be afraid of you, Michelle Jones.” The shake in his voice betrayed him.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She said with a finality that closed the conversation. Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her bag off her desk and walked towards the exit.

“Hey! Michelle, wait!” She heard a shout behind her. Knowing it was Peter’s voice, she kept walking, infinitesimally slowing her steps. He caught up to her soon enough and touched her elbow to get her to stop. She stopped walking, but did not pivot to face him.

“I thought I told you to call me M.J., fuckwad.” M.J. stared ahead of her, squinting at the setting sun. She really needed to get home, before it starts to get dark, before New York churns out its predatory demons. “What do you want? And make it quick, the commute home kills me and I’ll never forgive you if I miss my train.” She said, still not looking at him.

He backed off a little, taking his hand off her arm.

“Sorry. I’m sorry – I just um. . . I just wanted to talk to you about this whole Student Council thing.” She turned to him before he finished his sentence. He looked sheepishly at her, tentative, hoping she wouldn’t snap at him again. His eyes were a warm brown, the color of her favorite tea.          

“Can’t we talk about this tomorrow during lunch?” She tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice, she couldn’t show him that she was afraid of anything.

“Yeah, I mean no worries, I’ll keep this quick – actually, matter of fact I’ll walk home with you . . . I know the streets of Queens can’t be the safest thing to go through for a girl.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him. He seemed to have realized what he just said.

“Not that you can’t handle yourself or anything! I mean I know you totally –”

She sighed. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay you can walk me home.”

She tried not to look at his smile – too big for his face, strong jaw extended to reveal even set teeth. If she looked closely enough, she could see peach colored freckles bending on the lines of his face. _Nerd._ Not that she had focused on his face enough to notice the scatter of freckles before this very encounter.

“Awesome. That’s awesome, really awesome.” He stammered.

“If you say awesome one more time I’m going to change my mind and leave you in the dust.” She said and started walking towards the subway. Michelle saw him flatten his smile to a smirk and jogged a few steps to catch up to her again. M.J. knew her insults weren’t working anymore – after calling him everything from “loser” to “lame ass” to “dipshit” (a feeling that a slow accumulation of profane nicknames will destroy his confidence), he probably just assumed that’s how she talked to everyone, and let the insults slide off him.

They got off the subway when the sky turned from pink to a dark shade of purple. Michelle and Peter didn’t talk on the train. How could they? New York City trains were notoriously crowded, not much conversation can happen when you are pressed against someone’s chest for half an hour straight while you are perpetually doomed to head bump the person in front of you. She couldn’t read for there was no elbow room to turn the pages, so her eyes had nowhere else to roam. And so M.J. spent the time looking at anything else but Peter’s face. At one point in the train ride, as people were getting off at a stop close to home, a woman with what seemed to be about thirty kids was trying to push through and wrangle all of them at the same time. They were all running out chaotically and the last child, a particularly heavy boy, pushed his way through at the last minute, bumping into Michelle’s hip. She fell forward slightly, further into Peter’s space; M.J. stepped forward suddenly to prevent herself from falling on her face and ended up stepping on Parker’s shoes, at the same time she felt a strong grip on her hip that kept her up. Michelle’s elbows tucked into herself automatically, and for a split second she became shorter than Peter before she straightened up and grabbed the pole next to her.

“Thanks.” She muttered gruffly and avoided his eyes.

“Anytime.”

Unfortunately, M.J. couldn’t help smelling his shirt on her way down – he was _that_ close – and was automatically pleased to notice that he smelled like roses and . . . was that Lush soap? M.J. wasn’t surprised that Peter didn’t like smell like most guys (he wasn’t like most guys) who seem to bathe in Axe body spray, but she didn’t expect him to use Lush products – didn’t he live with his Aunt? Maybe she was that much of an influence on him, not that Lush products were strictly for girls. None of this was important. It was just information for her observations on everyone in her year at Midtown. Simply continuing her studies. She shifted her head in another direction. Luckily, someone left the train, so she had a view of the widow for the last few minutes of the ride. She spent her time mesmerized by the myriad of colors swirling in the sky, trying to clear her head.

The walk home was borderline awkward. When they left the train, Peter seemed to have forgotten what the whole point of walking her home.

“So, do you have something personally against me running for Student Council? So much so that you had to walk me home to convince me to drop out?” Sarcasm was a good ice breaker, right? Being alone with Peter made Michelle unsure of herself. M.J. did _not_ like this feeling, for obvious reasons.

“Right! Student Council, the presidency . . . I told you that I was surprised you were running.” Peter started.

“Yeah, well, I’m full of the unexpected. You should know this about me after our three years of existence in the same universe.” She refused to look in his direction.

He chuckled softly. “Sure you are.” Michelle could feel him look at her. She quickened her pace, just to catch him off guard. He did not seem to mind, however, in fact he didn’t even seem tired. They didn’t do much but standing for thirty minutes straight and walking two miles total can tire anyone out, but Peter isn’t even breathless, from what M.J. gathered.

“I wanna know why you are running for president.” He stated clearly.

“President of Student Council or President of the United States? Both are on my agenda, so you have to be more specific.”

He smiled. “Let’s stick with President of Student Council for now. Why are you running?”

“Because I can.” She answered briskly. He raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. This was beginning to become a pattern. “Fine – because there are a lot of problems at Midtown. Because we may belong to a school for geniuses but the opportunity gap is real everywhere and there aren’t as many fellow black kids in my Lit classes or in this school entirely. Not to mention that, although the administration will never admit this, any class that isn’t STEM is basically a blow-off class for a lot kids and that needs to change because the world is more than just test tubes and algebra equations.” She finished breathlessly. At one point in her speech, she stopped walking and looked at him. His eyes were full moons. Brown, puppy dog eyes that you would never expect much from; she didn’t expect him to understand. But maybe M.J. wasn’t giving him enough credit because next thing she knew, he clamped his hands on her shoulders, looked at her directly. She winced inwardly.

“M.J. that is amazing. I mean I knew you cared about the injustices in the world but you just . . . you’re so amazing.” He said. He was so close to her face, he probably didn’t even have to use his vocal cords, M.J. would still have heard him.

“All you are telling me are facts. I _know_. It still doesn’t explain why you wanted to walk me home.”

He took a sudden interest in his shoe laces. M.J. could the tips of his ears going red.

“I always want to walk you home.” He said unexpectedly. Michelle didn’t take a second.

“Okay, creepy. But you said you wanted to talk to me about Student Council. Spit it out, Peter.”

“Yeah, right, Student Council. I want you to win this thing, M.J. You should be president. Also, if I have Flash bossing me around for the rest of the year, I think I might just quit school. I want to help you win. Please let me help you win.” He finished earnestly.

“I don’t need your help, Parker.” M.J. said coolly and she started to walk away but he quickly reached for her arm again. He had a steely resolve.

“No offense, but you aren’t the most popular girl in school. You have every chance of winning this. I mean, I ‘m not even worried about you in the debate but you can’t underestimate the power of name recognition. It may sound horrible, but you need to actually talk to the kids outside of Decathlon so that when voting day comes, they will remember that you are a likeable person, not just knowledgeable about a bunch of Midtown facts.” He argued. He bounced on the soles of his feet, waiting to her response. Ever since the end of freshman year, he has been a restless kid.

“So what are you saying, Parker? Smile more?” M.J. scowled at the thought.

“I’m _saying_ that I want to be your campaign manager.” He smiled slyly, impressed at his idea.

“You’re joking, right? You know you are currently known as _Penis Parker_ throughout our class, right?” It was his turn to roll his eyes. He wasn’t going to back down.

“No one calls me that anymore.”

“If you say so, Penis.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair exasperatedly. He was beginning to lose his patience. _Good._ They started walking again, after M.J. checked her watch, Peter must have gotten the hint that time was of the essence.

“M.J. I know that you practically hate me, but I _really_ don’t want Flash and that Osborn kid as the reps of Midtown. And I’m pretty sure you don’t either. You can win this, and I can help.” He seemed convince of that and he seemed so sincere that it was hard to for M.J. to deny his request. But she held herself back from agreeing completely.

“I’ll think about it.” M.J. decided. He let out a breath.

“I’ll take it. Anyway, here’s you.” He swept his arm towards her apartment building and stepped forward to open the entrance door. Weird. She never told him the building number, and this was the first-time spending time together outside of school. How did he know where she lives?

“How did you know where I live?” Michelle asked, unable to contain her curiosity. 

He blinked. “What?”

“I never told you which building is mine and you’ve never been to my house before, so how did you know where I live?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Everything about her in that moment was questioning and unapologetic.

“Oh!” Parker’s eyes moved everywhere but where Michelle was standing. “Well, I just noticed you were slowing down and kept eyeing the building so with some deductive reasoning and – and stuff, I just assumed that this was your stop. I mean I totally could be wrong – like you said I have no idea where you live – not like I follow you around or anything, ‘cause that would be, as you said, creepy . . .” he stopped rambling to take a breath and finally look at her.

“Wow . . . are you sure you want to be my campaign manager? You don’t even know how to talk to the campaign person.”

He didn’t let the insult touch him, but smiled widely instead. “I’m positive. So is that a yes?”      

“Goodbye, Peter.” She closed the door but not before she heard, “Good night, Michelle” whispered to her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment/review!!!!


	3. Barack with a Hint of Hillary with a Sprinkle of Bernie

M.J. thought about Peter’s offer all throughout dinner and through most of the night. Why was he doing this? Did he really mean all of what he said? Seemed so, considering Parker could be a variety of things, just not a good liar. He genuinely wanted to help her win the Student Council seat. Maybe she should have told him this was also a plot to further her college dreams, but that will be a conversation for another day. At the end of the day, Peter Parker was right (a statement she would only say in her head): M.J. needed more people to know her, to like her enough to say that she would be a good leader. Maybe working with Parker would be an effective strategy to gain votes that wouldn’t have come her way otherwise. Parker was more popular, especially after freshman year – after that unexplained growth spurt. Suddenly, girls and guys alike stared at Peter without shame. They smiled more his way, they wanted to be his partner in classes that he didn’t have with Leeds. Even Liz noticed him – with both of them being in Decathlon it was hard to miss the glances and longing looks they gave each other when the other wasn’t looking. M.J. mentally catalogued all of this in her growing observations of Midtown citizens, so every person that wanted to hang out with Peter was one more person in between a possible friendship between M.J. and Peter. Michelle has known Parker since the sixth grade, were both smart enough to be in the same classes – but their real interactions have been minor, accidental eye contact in the hallways and recent Decathlon practices.

Every time M.J. thought about Student Council, she ended up wanted it more – it wasn’t just about Columbia anymore. She kept imagining the triumph of showing Flash and Osborn that they couldn’t get everything and anything they wanted. But, again, Peter Parker was right: if she was going to win, Michelle needed name recognition. And who better help her get it than from a very noticeable, likeable, and (although M.J. would take this to her grave) cute boy that was nice to everyone?

* * *

 

“Okay, nerd, I thought about your offer.” Michelle announced apathetically, giving herself a seat directly across from Peter. She came up to them so suddenly that Ned almost fell off the seat. Michelle was a force in these ways. She saved Ned a glance to make sure he was okay, but quickly turned her head back to Peter. Her ever-suave senior classmate was choking on a chunk of tuna sandwich. She rolled her eyes and gave him a minute to recover.

“That’s great!” he said, his eyes were teary and his voice was breathless. _Didn’t sound great._

“Yeah, well I assume you have some strategy for this whole thing so we are going to have to meet to plan this shit.” She said casually.

“Oh, well, we can deal with the details later.” _Great._ M.J. silently cursed herself for thinking was a good idea. _He doesn’t even have a plan yet._

“God. Fine. We can meet after school when there isn’t Decathlon. Queens Public Library right after school today. Don’t be late.” She got up to leave, but stopped herself from moving away from them. “Oh, and Parker?” she asked with a high falsetto voice.

She didn’t miss the flash of fear in his eyes and couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, M.J.?”

“If you think that you can start being late-slash-miss AcaDec for this little arrangement and think that I would be cool with it, you have bigger things headed your way.” She finished, pushed her palm off the table and walked off to the library.

She heard Ned squeal. “What the frick did you do?!”

“Nothing.” She could practically hear his smirk from the entrance of the cafeteria. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

M.J. was walking towards the entrance of the school when she felt a familiar grip on her elbow, trying to slow her down. (Side effect of having long legs: her “normal” pace was a low-key jog for some people). Michelle didn’t slow down though, just turned her head enough to acknowledge Parker a slight nod of her head. He caught up to her soon enough.

“Use your words, Peter. You don’t have to manhandle me every time you want to talk to me.” Michelle stated, once they got out of the building. They were walking towards the Subway station. She was never going to admit it, but it was actually nice walking and talking with someone. She secretly hoped this would evolve into a routine, even if they didn’t head in the same direction at the end of the day.

“I don’t manhandle you!” _Bless his heart_ , M.J. thought, _he actually looks shocked._

“Then what is it with you and grabbing my arm. I’m not deaf and I know who you are.” If Michelle was being honest with herself, she didn’t know why she was complaining. His hands were strong and nicely shaped and M.J. was pretty sure he had freckles bottoms of his palms. But none of this was important.

“Seriously,” he continued as they made their way up the stairs. “I don’t _manhandle_ you. But _lightly touching_ your arm is the only way I know to get your attention.” He shrugged and looked out at the elevated track.

“Can’t you just shout my name? I hear you guys during lunch, you and Leeds both suck at whispering. I should think a raised voice is no problem for you.” She shrugged; it was contagious.

“I could have used a bullhorn to call you but I’m a hundred and ten percent sure that you would just keep walking just to spite me. And I can tell when you’re purposefully being annoying because you can’t help but smile in some way, and hate to brake it to you, bud, but your smile is so detectable. For someone who frowns a lot, you have a hard time being serious.”

Had he really noticed all of that about her? That was pretty observant, even by Michelle’s standards. _Why, though? Why would he care about my smile? This kid is all kinds of weird._ She gave him a side eye but hope he didn’t notice. He didn’t. He was still scanning the horizon. From the elevated platform, they could see the remaining students trickling out of the school building, which pierced the cloudy sky. Like a needle to a grey water balloon, trying to get it to rain. It was actually kind of lovely, it made M.J. feel unimportant, but in a good way. It gave her one of these feelings that the world could continue and her problems were solvable because they weren’t the biggest thing happening. She didn’t like explaining these types of feelings to other people, they barely made sense to M.J. But, in that moment, as she shifted her head ever so slightly to look at Peter’s blank face, she had a vague feeling that he would understand.

“Stop staring at me M.J.” He said with a wide smile. Peter gave everything he had into everything he did. Couldn’t he just smile like normal people? Small and regular and awkward, just like the rest of us. But Michelle was starting to think that “the rest of us” didn’t apply to Peter Parker.

“Just get on the damn train, Peter. No one’s trying to heighten your self-esteem.”

“Says the girl admiring my Adonis-quality face.” He was quick-witted, she would give him that. _Not as fast as me, though._

“You sure it was the looks that you inherited from Adonis? Or the ego? I’m pretty sure it’s the latter, because as you, and everyone at Midtown knows, I’m never wrong.”

“Why not both?” He asked excitedly and wriggled his eyebrows. She was going to punch him.

“Because no one wants a thirty feet statue of your ego, man. N.Y.C. has enough skyscrapers.”

“Just one more, please M.J., just one more. We can call it the Echo of Greatness.”

She dropped her head to hide her smile. This conversation was getting regrettably funny, but she didn’t want to let him know that. A random thought popped in her head. _Was this flirting?_ She quickly suppressed it. _God, M.J., this is what a normal conversation looks like in real life! Focus!_

“Come on. Stop trying to advertise your monument to the rest of Queens. This is our stop.”

“Whoa, that was fast. Do you come here often?”

That was an oversimplification if she heard one. She practically lived at the Queens Public Library. Home away from home, to its full meaning. She loved public libraries. She loved all the services they provided for the community. It just made sense: the centers of freedom of education and knowledge welcomed everyone from babies to homeless people to undocumented citizens. And not only welcomed them, but helped them. Younger students have their own colorful corners, homeless individuals can come in and learn how to use various computer tech to impress job interviewers, undocumented citizens had their own rooms to practice for citizenship tests.

For a weird reason, she voiced her opinions to Peter. And for a split second after she was done, she was starting to regret it. Until he gave her that smile again. For as long as she’s known him, she’s just realized he doesn’t give that same smile to most people. Maybe his aunt, but everything about his face was so focused on her. She couldn’t imagine him being able to replicate that look often.

“You’re completely right.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Public libraries represent free knowledge. And free knowledge is the cornerstone of every great human civilization.”

She looked away for a second but nodded her head to show him that she agreed. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” She said quietly.

“Anyway, here we are.” She looked up at the modestly modern building. “A cornerstone, as you said.” They walked in and conquered a table at the back corner, close to the autobiography section.

“Okay Mr. Manager, where do we start?” She asked briskly.

“With a slogan. Obviously.” He had the nerve to roll his eyes at her.

“I swear, if you have me rhyming, I will cease any record of us being friends.” The corners of his lips pulled up and M.J. wasn’t completely sure if it was a totally conscious action.

“Yeah I didn’t think rhyming was your thing. I was actually trying to go for the Obama-change-hope with a hint of Hillary’s glass ceiling energy. But pulling that into one catchy line is going to be hard. Oh, also we should include the essence of Bernie’s contained radicalism. I mean, I know you’re more into Davis’s men-can’t-do-anything-right kind of vibe, but I would rather you remain in the school when you run for this thing.”

She couldn’t help it, she was sincerely impressed. But she schooled her facial features to not show it. Instead she tried to give off an inquisitorial look.

“First of all, Angela Davis is more of a bra-burning socialist than a bra-burning misandryist. You need to get that here and now before we continue. Second of all . . . actually, there is no second of all. I think that’s a really cool idea. We should make a to-do list.” Michelle said and started to reach into her backpack for a notebook.

“Wait, seriously? A to-do list? Are you a middle-aged man?” He scrunched his face.

She looked at him incredulously. “To-do lists are the reason America hasn’t collapsed yet. They are versatile and are unisex, ageless methods of organization. Not everyone can manage your chaotic lifestyle, Parker.” 

He chuckled lightly. _Weird. He didn’t seem to mind that I called his life an utter mess._ He put his hands up in defense.

“Okay, okay. Let’s start the to-do list. Title it: Secret Plans for World Domination. So how do you think we can pull together the entire 2016 Democratic Party in one line?”

He pulled the chair next to her, put his elbow on the table, and rested the side of head on his palm; his head was tilted to face her.

Michelle clicked her tongue and tapped her pen against the table impatiently.

“I don’t know.”

Peter’s head shot up. “Wait. I’m sorry can you say that again? You don’t what?”

“Shut up, Parker, before I fire you. Isn’t it your job to make this stuff up anyway?”

“Yeah, but I value your input and it’s _your_ campaign at the end of the day. I want to make sure you like the person you are presenting to the school.”

She raised both her eyebrows. “Thanks, Parker.”

“Was that sarcasm?” he asked tentatively. It wasn’t sarcasm.

“I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.”

Thirty minutes passed and Michelle felt satisfied on their work so far. They did online research on different types of leaders. (“I’m just saying, M.J., you might not be good for this seat. It says here a lack of emotion is the number one sign of a potential fascist ruler.” Michelle pushed his hand away from the mouse. “You know I always though Midtown needed a new order.”) They printed out every one of Michelle Obama’s speeches and highlighted main points. (“Shouldn’t we be analyzing _Mr._ Obama’s speeches?” M.J. shook her head immediately. “You and I both know that Michelle Obama will be the rightful ruler of the universe, my friend, just accept it.” His eyes widened. “So, we’re friends now, eh?” M.J. was already walking away to the printer to grab another copy.)

Every few moments, M.J. glanced at Peter and discovered that she was actually enjoying herself. Researching random facts about the 2012 presidential campaign with Peter was calming her down. She tried to ignore the little things about being co close to him.

Things like the fact that she could smell his flowery scent from across the table; like the fact that he chewed his pen and pencils and highlighters the same way; like the fact that when he came across a word he didn’t know, he always turned to her and asked earnestly instead of searching it up on Dictionary.com like what most people would do; like the fact then when he got excited by a quote he thought she might like, he would pivot his entire body to her and tap her wrist repeatedly until she gave him her full attention; like the fact that he pushed his foot against hers when he got bored. Needless to say, it was a growing list, but M.J. did her best to focus on the information in front of her, instead of her growing affection towards his habits and general presence.

They were making good progress on the research and it was a full two hours before closing time, so they were not worried about being late for anything. They heard some school kids come around the other side of the bookshelf behind them and M.J. couldn’t tune out their excited voices.

“Did you see that bank robbery that happened on 5th avenue?”

“Yeah, man, that guy was crazy. Calling for Spider-Man’s head and shit. Saw some of the wreckage, looked awful. Cops couldn’t get there fast enough. Can’t believe we made it through the traffic, though.”

They kept walking towards the young adult section of the library, their voices fading into whispers after several reprimands from the librarian at the front desk.

“Hey M.J. I think we’re good for tonight, we should go home.” She heard suddenly. She scrunched her eyebrows together.

“What? No, we should get this done.”

“And we will, I promise. I just remembered something I have to do for um . . .  my aunt. Yeah, Aunt May gets crazy when I don’t do the laundry when she asks me to.” He didn’t look at her, but rather grabbed his backpack from the floor and shoved the papers he was working on into the opened bag frantically.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Knew you would understand.” He walked backwards, trying not to look like he was running. “Thanks, Michelle! I mean M.J.! Bye!” He waved and almost walked backwards into the shelf.

“Bye.” She muttered. M.J. looked left and right and fell back in her chair, trying to convince herself that she was more confused than disappointed.


	4. Posters and Pictures

M.J. spent the rest of the week forgetting about Parker’s random disappearance and general odd behavior. Things went back to normal: she sat five seats away from the Leeds and Parker from across the table; she spent her lunch periods in the library whenever Osborn or Flash were doing their campaign stunts and presentations in the cafeteria; she got through her all her college essays in a week, two months before they are officially due. Things went back to normal, but in the vaguest sense possible. If anyone was really paying attention, they would notice that Michelle would be listening to Leeds’ and Parker’s conversation a lot more than she usually did, and do weird things like run commentary in her head to whatever they were saying. Whenever M.J. got close to opening her mouth to say something, she pinched her arm and pretended to react to something she was reading. Michelle couldn’t really stand to be close to Peter, she couldn’t handle everything that went through her in those seconds that she would notice the lines of his lips (sharp and angular) or the way his hair curls (at the back of his neck). During Decathlon, she made sure to never look at him when she was testing his knowledge in preparation for their national tournament. _It doesn’t make sense._ They had one meeting so far, and M.J. was feeling things that are threateningly turning into _crush_ -like feelings. As much as M.J. hated these feelings, she would stop herself from cutting herself off from Peter completely because, as she rationalized it, her refusal to interact with him would definitely validate those feelings and Peter would get suspicious. Not to mention that not spending time with Peter was actually kind of worse than thinking about him abstractly. They agreed on so many things and he wasn’t afraid of hitting her back with his own flavor of sarcasm and intellectuality. He would admit that she was wrong but it happened so rarely because, “You’re so smart, M.J., oh mah gawd.” as he would constantly remind her. (Those moments were particularly powerful because he would drop his head on her shoulder and pout. It was hard to get through sometimes.)

Things went back to normal, but Michelle was starting to believe that normal had changed indefinitely.

* * *

They were walking out of the school to head to the library for another campaign meeting in silence. (Another great thing about hanging out with Peter: all the quiet moments were comfortable and not confrontational. M.J. never understood why her classmates thought that they needed to talk to each other at all times in order to have a good time.) Michelle focused on the light at the end of the hallway, the sounds of their shoes on the hard tiles piercing the silence. The main hallway was littered with Flash’s posters. Apparently, he was going to have a party soon to celebrate his “imminent victory” as he excitedly and unashamedly proposed to the cafeteria today at lunch.

Michelle could only roll her eyes through the whole announcement. His head seemingly increasing with every word he yelled, standing on one of the tables like a child.

“To celebrate my imminent victory, I would like to invite the entire senior class to my house Friday night for a party to end all parties! I would like to extend a hand to Harry Osborn for dropping out of the race and giving me a helping hand in becoming the next leader of Midtown High.” Throughout his speech, he looked around the large room and spread out his arms. He then looked straight at where she was sitting and they gave her a sneer before he continued. “Together, we can change Midtown High!”

There was an excited clump of applause throughout the cafeteria. M.J. looked around her to find that people were starting to mutter and were actually planning to _go_ to this party, like it would be the event of the year.

Anyhow, none of this concerned either Peter nor Michelle, until Peter said something she didn’t expect.

“We should go to Flash’s party. Just the two of us.” He stopped walking to look at her. M.J. had to walk back a few steps to face him.

“What? Why?” She tried to not focus on the last part of his statement.

“I think it would be a good canvasing opportunity. Go around, mingle, explain how you would be a ten times better leader than Flash. Convince people _at his own party_.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Parker. But I don’t do parties. Also, I can’t believe you just used the word ‘mingle.’”

“It’s a good word.” He said defensively. “And that’s okay, because I don’t do parties either.” _Doubtful_ , Michelle thought, but she let him continue. “Together we can sweep up whatever social skills we have to talk you up. Not to mention that your basic presence is a good indicator of that fact the insidious Michelle Jones _can_ have fun.”

She must have had a skeptical look on her face, because he kept spewing out arguments, most which M.J. rolled her eyes at.

“C’mon, M.J., we have to do this. Flash has basically given you a secret weapon and you won’t even consider going with me?”

 _I never said I wouldn’t go with you._ Overall, Michelle was convinced by that last statement. She liked the idea of beating Flash at his own game. And life was all about taking opportunities, right?

“Okay, okay. You convinced me, yeah? Let’s just get out of here, I’d rather not get inducted to the Chess team this early in the school year.”

“Yes!” he smiled triumphantly, like it so hard to see the benefits of his idea. “And yeah we should go. But can we not go to the library today?”

“Why? Are you starting to fear Ms. Johnson? You know she isn’t that bad once you start talking to her about Game of Thrones.”

“No, I mean like can we go to my place instead.”

She raised her eyebrows. His sentence was probably a lot less suggestive than she interpreted it.

“I mean! Only if you want to . . . I just wanted to start on making the posters and slogans, but all the materials are at my place, like we have an actual printer that you don’t have to pay for, and we have more space and time at my place. Like, we don’t have to worry about closing time or anything.” He took a breath after his short ramble. “Oh! And I can walk you home afterwards, obviously.”

“You done?”

He started squinting at the poster behind her. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“You’re right.” She said matter-of-factly. His head shot up and he grinned at her, all teeth and cheeks.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? I’m what?”

“You know, Parker, that joke is getting really old.”

“Whatever, Jones. Just to let you know my place is a couple more stops than the library.” He warned her, as if she didn’t already agree to coming to his house.

“That’s fine.” She tried to add a joke but couldn’t think of anything witty. It was hard to focus when the sunlight outside was nowhere near as bright as Peter’s eyes or smile or cheeks. It was like he was harnessing the sun’s energy.

“God. Stop smiling at me. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” She meant to say it with some malice, but being mean to Peter was proving increasingly difficult.

* * *

“May! You home?!”

“Is that how you always enter your house? Shouting into thin air, hoping someone will answer?”

“It’s not like there is a full house here all the time.” He turned around to look at her and started walking backwards to which M.J. presumed was his room. “It’s just me and May and Ned sometimes, but he doesn’t really _do_ indoor voice.”

“Right.”

“Anyway. Presenting: casa de Parker.”

“Wow. Teenage boy’s bedroom is a teenage boy’s bedroom.”

It really was a typical teenage boy’s bedroom. Dark clothes littering the floor (M.J. could see his “I lost an electron” shirt on the chair. She’s always wanted that shirt.), posters and action figures of random Avengers. Michelle kept walking into the room, circling the room. The back of her hand hit one of the open desk drawers and she stopped herself from peeking inside. She nudged her head back a bit to see if he was paying any attention to possible reactions but she saw that he was preoccupied, reaching for materials on the high shelves of his bookcase, his shirt had ridden up and Michelle quickly jerked her head back. She didn’t want anything that could distract her from getting work done tonight. She was already feeling out of place being in his room. Not in a bad way, just like it isn’t the right time. _When if the right time?_ She asked herself. _It doesn’t matter! Just chill out!_

She dumped her bag near the corner of his bed and quickly snatched the chair from his desk. When Michelle was nervous, she did everything aggressively. Even her breath was sharper and louder than when they came into the apartment.

“You still have all our research?” She asked nonchalantly. “I want to see if we can pull some interesting word choice from the candidates we looked at.”

Peter kept gathering materials, so M.J. ended up talking to his back. “I like the idea, but I think that could get into plagiarism territory without us even knowing.”

She was going to mention something about her own incredibly individualistic writing style, but plagiarism is something Michelle never wants to deal with, so she conceded.

“Fine, so how are we going to make the slogan?”

He finally turned around from pulling a huge white board from the back of his closet.

“I was thinking that we could combine brainstorming with free association. I have a list of words that you would do free association with and we can write down every word you use on the white board. Once we have a good enough amount, we can take what we wrote down and try to put together a slogan. What do you think?” He looked from her to the board and back again, bouncing off his soles like an excited fifth grader showing off a science project.

Michelle took a breath and focused on the empty white board.

“I think you…” _are amazing, dedicated, adorable…_ Michelle didn’t use any of those words. She looked back at him and realized that she took a long time to answer.

“Yeah, makes sense. Commence with the list.” She said, as coolly as possible.

“Great!” he exclaimed, like he just found out that the plans of his birthday party have been approved. “So, the first word is ‘people.’”

“Suck.” M.J. answered without a pause. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come on, be serious. Or, at least, try a little harder.” He seemed to be pleading with her, which made Michelle’s stomach turn over.

“Okay, okay, don’t start crying on me. Give me another word.”

“Democracy.” He stated.

“Necessary.” He wrote down the letters in small, cramped script.

“Government.”

“Stagnant.”

“Midtown.”

“Slow.”

He raised his eyebrows just for a second, but then proceeded to write the word. It didn’t matter, Michelle wasn’t going to explain herself.

“Goals.”

“Improvement.”

They went on like this for about another thirty minutes. Michelle had to admit that it was getting tedious. At one point she felt like she forgot how to think and took a full ten seconds to come up with an answer.

“Peace.”

“Concept. Wait, what does peace have to do with a high-school election?”

“We can’t rule out anything that the student body might have on their minds.” He shrugged.

Michelle noticed how the words he was giving her was starting to divert. It was like he was asking her opinions on bigger things, instead of possible words to include in a message.

“Crime.”

“Humanity.”

“Spider-Man.” _Spider-Man?_

“Okay, I know full well Spider-Man will not be a part of this election.”

“Are you kidding me? Spider-Man is on everyone’s minds, especially at Midtown. Come on, what do you think of Spider-Man?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?”

Why _can’t_ she just answer the question? It’s not like she hasn’t _thought_ about Spider-Man since his popularity skyrocketed. But what could she say that hasn’t already been said? He was mainstream but unproblematic, noble and just without being annoying, and he’s local, which makes his deeds more . . . honest? Valuable? She genuinely didn’t know what to say.

“He’s fine.” She decided.

“ _Fine?_ Just ‘fine?’” He stared at her like he expected more.

“Well I’m not gonna waste my time fawning over someone whose only chance of meeting me is if I’m in danger, God forbid.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was kinda hoping you would have more to say. Since when do you not have something to say?” He was obviously disappointed that they couldn’t have this extravagant and profound discussion on the hometown hero.

“Why do you care? I’ve never even heard you mention Spider-Man ‘till now.” At this point, M.J. has her arms crossed and is genuinely confused.

He didn’t answer her question. He let out an exasperated breath and ran his fingers through his hair, glancing to the open window.

“You know, you’re right, it’s not important.” Although everything in his voice said that he was anticipating her opinion. “We have to move on to the next thing, anyway. It’s getting late.”

Michelle didn’t want to drop this whole Spider-Man thing so easily, but he was right, it was getting late and Michelle hadn’t texted her parents or her sister, Eleanor, that she would be here.

“What next thing? I thought we were just going to work on the slogan and you’d walk me home. You’re still planning on walking me home, right?” She made him look her directly into her eyes to confirm his promise.

“Yeah! Yes, of course I’m still walking you home. We just need a picture for the posters.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t seriously think that we were just gonna have your name and people would just recognize you, right?”

“I mean . . .” She honestly felt a little embarrassed at having never thought of pictures.

“God, okay M.J. it’s just gonna take a minute. We need some good lighting and May’s camera. Be right back.” Michelle nodded without looking at him.

Why did she forget pictures? Better question, why didn’t he tell her that they were going to take pictures tonight? She would have washed her hair or put on some less angsty clothes or _something_ that didn’t make her look so angry at the world. He came back into his room fiddling with the camera.

“You know, I don’t think we should take the picture tonight.”

His head shot up immediately. “Why not?”

“Umm because I look like I want to murder someone?”

“You always look like that.” That’s a fair point.

“I just . . . don’t feel good . . .” Finishing this sentence was going to be painful and she’s gonna hate herself for it. “I don’t feel pretty tonight, that’s all. I feel like if I knew that we were going to be doing headshots, I would have prepared better.” She couldn’t look at his expression.

“M.J. you look absolutely fine. I mean, you always look better than fine . . . I mean you have a nice face – ah, sorry, I’m not saying any of this correctly. You look normal. Here, how about we take some pictures tonight and if you’re still not happy with them, then we can redo this weekend.”  

She exhaled. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” _Anything to get this conversation over._

“Cool. There are some nice lamps in the dining room, let’s go.” He held out his arm to let her go first.

“So, I just need to stand in front of a white wall and smile?” She felt familiar skepticism flood back into her voice. _Good,_ she thought, _anything familiar is good. It has been a weird night._

“Yup! Ned is really good a photoshop and he can crop you picture into any kind of background you choose!” He smiled at her, like that embarrassing conversation did not happen a minute ago.

“Great. Do you think he can crop me into a scene from _Godzilla_ and have me fighting the monster?” He smirked.

“Your wish is our command.” He said sarcastically. “But you have to smile.”

“Ah, I always get the most difficult tasks.” She positioned herself against the wall and tried not to look apathetic.

“Just think of things that make you laugh.”

Michelle didn’t take a beat to say, “Well, I’m looking at you, so that’s not gonna be as hard as I thought it would.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Exactly, Peter, your face makes people go ‘ha ha.’”

“One day your gonna thank me for my strategic advice.”

“Just get the camera ready, weirdo.”

She really tried to smile, but she couldn’t look at the camera doing it, which sounds odd, but it was mostly annoying. So, after a while, she stopped thinking about her surroundings. Her eyes were looking at the camera, but her mind was somewhere else. In the empty hallways, walking to the train station with Peter. In the library that one afternoon, doing research and trying not to hyper-focus every time Peter touched her arm. Glancing at Peter’s direction during Academic Decathlon, only to find that he was staring at her long before she looked at him.

“Gotcha! That’s perfect, M.J. You don’t look threatening at all.”

She moved to look at the picture.

“See?” He whispered. “Beautiful.”

To which she replied, “Shut up, you wack. I look high.”

“You look like you were dreaming of something better.” He wasn’t entirely wrong, her eyes softened and her smile was kind, accepting, and encouraging. “What were you thinking about?” He put the camera on the table and looked at her, wonderingly.

“Ya know, watching Flash run out of the auditorium during the debate because he peed his pants.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her. “I guess that really is the stuff of dreams.”

“Yeah . . .” For once, there was an awkward moment of silence.

“So! I’m gonna grab your stuff and then we out. Cool?”

“Sure.”

The walk back was tense. M.J. didn’t feel like talking. Parker seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how or when to say it. It was awful feeling awkward with him, unnatural.

“Well, this is you.” He motioned her apartment when they finally got her stop.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I can walk you home anytime, just ask.”

 _I meant thanks for everything._ “I appreciate that.”

“Right.” He sounded like he expected more from her again. _What do you want from me, Parker?_ She started walking to the door.

“Wait, M.J.” She turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Earlier, when I said you always look normal – I meant good normal. Like, pretty. You are very pretty.” He said it all in a rushed breath, as if he didn’t want his self-conscious to get in the way of finishing the basic sentence.

She stared at him simply. “Thanks.” She said, almost like it was a question. _I think I did that wrong._

But it didn’t matter, because Parker was already saying good night and quickly walking back to the station.


	5. Can you Call It A Sleepover if She Didn't Sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i know! who comes out with 4 more chapters in one night??!! someone who has had this as a wip for like 2 years and just NOW has gotten back to it...for people who were waiting on this story, I am really sorry (like actually sorry, I know the feeling). for people just finding it, thanks for sticking around and for reading some more...

Things had to stop getting awkward between them. But M.J. had to admit that things were changing. He wasn’t just her campaign manager. They were _friends._

Like, just last week, out of nowhere, Peter asked Michelle if she wanted to watch movies with them.

“What? Why?” She asked him, her face scrunched up in confusion.

“Well we have this tradition of a Star Wars movie marathon at the end of every month. I was thinking you could join us.”

Leeds looked like inviting M.J. was not a topic of conversation beforehand, which means Peter is asking to hang out together on his own accord. _Interesting._

“You watch the same Star Wars movies every month? Any specific reason?” Everything inside her pushed her to say _yes_ , but she couldn’t sacrifice her cool, a thing that was proving difficult the more she was hanging out with Peter. “Also, what happened to my campaign, dork? The party?” _Keep the eyebrow raised…_

“We… um, don’t laugh okay? We like to try to memorize the lines and pretend to be some of the characters.” He admitted bashfully. “And don’t worry about the party, it’ll all be fine. So you in?”

M.J. stared straight into his eyes, holding the stare for a solid five seconds. “That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.” _And I love it._ “So I’m in.”

Peter’s entire aura seemed to shine a little brighter from his excitement. “Yes! This is gonna be so much better with you.”

M.J. bowed her head at that and returned to her book, trying to hide her smile and indicating that the conversation was over. “Whatever. Just text me the details so I can clear it with my parents.”

“No prob.” And that was the end of it.

* * *

 

Michelle repeated Peter’s words from lunch in her head all throughout the rest of the day. _So much better with you…. With you._ There was no guessing with Peter; he was terrible with secrets and he wore his emotions on his sleeve. He said whatever was on his mind and gave away compliments like they cost him nothing. Maybe he was the perfect extrovert. But that wouldn’t be completely true either, because Leeds was his only real friend. Being good was just easy for him, and, in M.J.’s world, Peter’s way of spreading love was like a super power.

His words lulled her. In her last period, she was so out of it that her teacher had to snap his fingers to get her attention.

“School isn’t over yet, Michelle!” Whatever, at least it was the weekend. Peter texted her sometime after lunch saying that they were planning to meet at his apartment on Sunday afternoon.  

**Peter the Pisces:** _Do you want me to pick you up? I really don’t mind._

Ever the gentlemen, but M.J. declined. A good long train ride would be good for her, to prepare herself that was the spectacle of the Leeds-Parker Nerd-Off.

Michelle knocked on the door of their apartment, hoping beyond hope that costumes weren’t involved and she wouldn’t have to see Leeds in a full on Princess Leia warrior get-up. But neither Leeds nor Parker opened the door.

“You must be Michelle – I mean M.J.! Sorry, Peter always reminded me to call you by your nickname. Please come in!” A brilliantly beautiful woman, who looked like she was in her late thirties (it was hard to tell though), answered the door excitedly.

M.J. was speechless, absolutely floored. She couldn’t even answer her until she swallowed deeply. Fortunately, her feet moved faster than her brain did, and she was able to walk into the apartment.

“So, did you find our place okay?” Finally, Michelle was able to connect her last two brain cells and figure out that this gorgeous human being was Peter’s aunt. _Good-looking must run in the family_ , M.J. thought. _Lucky me_.

“Um, yeah! Yeah, definitely, I’ve been here before so it wasn’t that hard,” M.J. was finally able to say.

Wait. _Did she know that I was here before? Alone with Parker…_

“Oh! I didn’t know that you’ve visited before. Peter must have forgotten to mention it…”

 _Speak of the Devil,_ Peter made his way into the living room.

“Hey! I heard your voice, glad you could make it.” Peter walked up to her, gave her a small hug and in that moment, M.J. understood why humans need to be held. Peter smelled like the world’s best comfort food, served on a soft rainy night. _This boy is made of something else._

Interestingly enough, it seemed like Peter didn’t want to let go of Michelle; he rubbed her arms before dropping his arms entirely and didn’t step back for full seconds before his aunt spoke up.

“So! Are you staying over, Michelle? I have more sleeping bags in the closet.” Aunt May smiled, she didn’t seem to mind that there were going to be three grown teenagers in the house on a weekend. Michelle would never understand why parents and guardians make sacrifices like these. May was a cool adult, from what she can gather based on Peter’s stories, it should be no problem for her to have a good time in the big city, but she was welcoming another child into her home like it was nothing. Michelle appreciated Peter’s household more and more.

“Um, yeah, that would be great. I already told my parents that I would be staying over so…” Michelle stammered. Hopefully, she could keep it together enough to get through the weekend, although after a quick mental image of Peter Parker in his pajamas made that a completely new challenge.

* * *

That night, Michelle, Peter, and Ned got through about half of the marathon. The plan was to get through all of it by Saturday night and still have enough time to be nerds A.K.A. do homework. They were getting ready for bed, peacefully and quietly. They were all kind of exhausted from keep their eyes open all day (especially considering that they got through the school day as well). Ned was sprawled out on the top bunk, snoring with his arm draped over the side of the bed when Michelle walked into Peter’s room. It was warm outside, so Michelle was glad that she just brought shorts and a t-shirt for pj’s; things she wore in the summer to get through the night because her dad was too cheap to buy a real AC. Luckily, she was just glad the sleepover didn’t have to be Star Wars themed pajamas too.

Holding her street clothes in one arm and with a toothbrush in hand, she walked into the room. In some weird way, she thought Peter was just going to visit the bathroom after her to change, so when she walked in on him with his arms and shirt raised in an effort to change, and she could do nothing but freeze. Seriously, _freeze_. As in: _be entirely caught off guard_. Peter was _built_ : every inch of him was covered in a million muscles that probably didn’t even have names yet. His chest was smooth and sculpted like some Greek god did it on purpose just to torment M.J. When he _finally_ pulled off his top (in that way that boys do because they have extra space in the armpits of their shirts so that they hair comes out a little messy), Peter was surprised to see M.J. standing at the door. And why wouldn’t it be a weird sight? She was just standing there gaping at him, she could not imagine what her face looked like right now. She was still standing at the door frame, breath hitched and the tooth brush threatening to slip from her fingers.

“Hey,” she whispered, “just finished changing.”

“Yeah…” He answered. If Michelle wasn’t so freaked, she would see that Peter was just as frozen as she was, his eyes widening a bit more with the sight of her in her pajamas. If Michelle was just a little more alert, she would see that Peter gave her a slow once over, all the way down to her socks. And if Michelle was standing behind him, she would see that the back of his neck became shades more red. But M.J. was just a little too preoccupied trying to hold on to her things and thing about the necessary steps to walk into Peter’s room (without tripping) and inevitably closer to Peter.

It wasn’t even the muscles that got to her _completely_. It’s that his skin was golden, topped with freckles illuminated by the solitary lamp in the room. M.J. just did not expect to see the sun hiding just behind Peter Parker’s chest. Was he as warm as he looked? As soft and solid as he seemed? She walked into the room and crouched to put her stuff in her pack, trying to pull herself together. These past few weeks have been _so weird_ , and it was all Parker’s fault. She was learning things about him that he didn’t even need to tell her; it was like she was paying attention to things that people only really catch if they have been close with for years, not a few weeks. And this? Finding Peter half-dressed looking at her with all the focus anyone could possibly muster? It was all getting to be a bit much…

“It’s the blue sleeping bag, right?” M.J. stood back up with her hands on her hips, a trusted power pose to help her keep control.

He reached for tank top on the dresser next to him and whispered, “Actually, I’m totally cool with you taking my bed…It’s clean, I promise! Definitely would beat the floor.”

She looked the sleeping bag, then looked at the bed, and finally, reluctantly, at him.

“It’s cool, Parker, I can take the sleeping bag. You don’t have to be the perfect host all the time. Just help me clear up some space.” M.J. looked around to see what could be moved so that she could fit in without squeezing. For someone who moved around a lot, he had a lot of junk. Mysterious tech stuff, probably from all those computers that he rewired, though there were some monitors and things that started to collect dust. He probably didn’t have time to keep up the hobby, Michelle was sure that it was probably one of the first things to go when he started quitting stuff a year ago.

“No, please,” he started, “it’s going to take forever to move stuff around. Honestly, I should have done it before you came. Just take the bed, it’ll be easier.” Peter waved his arm to the bottom bunk. It did seem really inviting…

M.J. shook her head. “No. Peter, listen, it’s no big deal. Go to sleep.” She started to reach for the sleeping bag.

“And I’m telling _you_ to listen: Take the bed.” Michelle rolled her eyes.

She started to protest again, “No, I wo—”

“ _Can someone just take the bed?_ ” Ned hissed. He stopped snoring a long time ago. “I’m trying to conserve energy for tomorrow, _please_ ,” he huffed.

“Sorry, Ned.” They said jointly.

Peter breathed in once before saying, “We could share it?” Her eyes shot to him in a split second to see if he was serious and, to her disbelief, he wasn’t smiling.

“Excuse me?” Michelle said under her breath.

“I mean! You don’t have to! It’s a messy floor, we are all really tired, and ya know, it’s just that—” M.J. didn’t let him finish rambling.

“Okay,” she heard herself say. “We can share it.” Just like that. She started walking towards the lower bunk like it was the last available seat in the train car. She moved the blankets and bed sheet open to let herself in. She scooted herself all the way to the edge of the wall. Peter could fit, right? M.J. reminded herself that he wouldn’t have offered to share, if he couldn’t fit in himself, so she dug her head into the pillow and shut her eyes hard. She sensed Peter move around her, even before he let himself into the covers. He let out a deep breath and moved across the small room to turn off the lamp light. Then he closed the door slowly so that the creaks weren’t as loud.

She felt him pull the covers up and she felt the bed sag with the weight of his body, and she felt that she was right all this time. Peter Parker was a furnace. They weren’t touching, they were actually faced in the opposite direction, but the covers became warmer instantaneously and there could be only one explanation.

What was M.J. going to do?

She turned around, facing his back. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Peter Parker, full of unexpected actions, flipped over to face her too. His eyes were open, and she could see the whites of them because of the lights coming from the open window.

He considered her for a moment. Licked his lips slowly and said just as quietly, “Anytime.”

In that moment, she wanted to stretch so badly, find any excuse to touch him, wrap her arms and legs around him. Bury her head into his neck instead of his pillow. Instead, she just closed her eyes again, but didn’t flip back to face the wall.

If she felt his eyes still on her, it was because she was dreaming after a long day. Just dreaming.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH ya girl DID give those bastards one (1) bed...I really love this trope and it just happened?!?! what can I say ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. I Think I Can Trust You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this,,,,is getting unbearably cheesy. how could I do this to yall?? still, thanks for sticking around, folks!

“Dress in something nice” he said. Problem: Michelle wasn’t nice. Michelle was snarky, but polite. Standoffish, but understanding. Aloof, but attentive. She just wasn’t nice. And her clothes most likely did not make an exception. Standing in front of her closet, M.J. was going over everything that Peter told her about how the night would go. About the fact that he had a plan and he wasn’t going to abandon her at any point.

When Peter walked her home after AcaDec and noticed M.J. visibly worried about the party later that night, he changed course a bit.

“Where are we going?” Michelle panicked. Needless to say, she was jittery today: she had this feeling all throughout the afternoon that something big was going to happen. Something that she didn’t think she was prepared to handle. Michelle, preoccupied with her nerves, did not notice Peter stealing glances at her every so often, beginning at lunch, remembering the sleepover every time that her hair swept in her face or closed her eyes in frustration. He flashed back to when she closed her eyes in his bed and was aware that she didn’t turn around to face the wall. So, when M.J. didn’t take notes in class or started pass the teacher all throughout the period, Peter noticed. M.J. noticed that Peter noticed, and she had no intention of stopping whatever he was going to do to make her feel better.

“Just stop at this park with me.” He gestured to a bench while leading her across the street. _With me, with me, with me_. Everything was with Peter these days, and Michelle reminded herself that it was only because of the campaign. Can this relationship – _partnership_ – really be anything more than that?

“Sit here.” Peter gently pushed her down on the clean side of the bench. “The first thing I need you to do is breathe, breathe, breathe.”

Michelle took three deep breaths because she knew it would work.

“Good.” He smiled at her, probably surprised that she hasn’t protested anything he has told her to do yet. “You have been to a party before. You have interacted with Flash before. You have definitely put up with his shit before. So, what exactly are you so afraid of?” He stayed standing in front of her.

“Who said I was afraid?” M.J. said rather faintly.

“M.J. I’m going to need you to stop trying to lie to me. We’ve been in this way too long for it to work any longer…I think I deserve the truth, don’t you?” He crouched down to look up at her and saw scrunched eyebrows. She was biting her bottom lip hard.

She looked back at him fiercely, always expecting a challenge. But she was only met with kind, concerned, steady brown eyes. When wasn’t she? When hasn’t Peter been right there? Sure, there were times when he would just disappear, most times with a lame and hurried explanation, but always harmless. M.J. thought back to times when she was freaking out about college applications and Peter was there to calm her down because her sister was dealing with stuff at school. She thought about how Peter would always have her back during Decathlon practice (only missing one this past semester, by the way) when Flash was acting like an insatiable jerk more than usual. Parker was there throughout this entire process: honestly, she probably would have dropped out of this whole thing two minutes in if it wasn’t for his constant reassurance that she is the best person for the job. They got close, there was no doubt about that. But when this party was over and when this whole campaign was so destined to end, what would become of them?

And _what_ about this party? Flash’s house? Being surrounded by people she barely talked to every day? She wasn’t going to last two seconds. Maybe five if Peter was there. Every inch of her is going to want to avoid the party, just grab Peter by the hand and let him talk about Star Wars at the library for hours. But she looked at him now, his expression totally focused on her and she knew she couldn’t give up. How could he believe in her, but she wouldn’t do the same for herself?

“It’s just that I’m not used to crowds. Not really into the idea of being the center of attention for such a long period of time,” she said. It was the truth, delivered in the most concise way possible.

He smirked at her for a second before mentioning, “I get that, M.J., I really do. But you know that being student council president means that you will have to be dealing with the entire student body, right? Like you literally have the be the center of attention for the debate and everything. You sure you signed up for the right extracurricular?” He chuckled at his own joke for a bit before continuing, “Look, I know you’re worried, but there isn’t much to do about the people. I mean, you can’t do anything about the crowds or the noise, and trust me I know all about sensory overload, but I know you are ready to deal with it all. Take it, like, two people at a time. Talk to them, hear what have to say, and then move on. Going to this party is all about establishing your presence. So, showing up means you are fifty percent accomplished. Do you get what I’m saying?” He moved to sit next to her on the bench and she pivoted to face him.

“Yeah, that helps. Two people at a time. Makes sense…Thank you.”

“Of course. It _is_ my job to get you through this.”

“No, I mean, yes, but no also.” _Who’s stammering now? "_ I also meant thank you for everything. This semester was hard enough with my sister away at school, but having you around made it all a little less…I don’t know, meaningless?”

“Wow,” he started and M.J. narrowed her eyes immediately, “I didn’t think Michelle Jones was capable of deep gratitude.” She rolled her eyes and pushed him away jokingly. But he grabbed her hand quickly and said, “Of course. And if it’s worth anything, I had a great semester hanging out with you too. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Mich- M.J. You got this in the bag. You’ve got _Columbia_ in the bag. Not just because of student council, but because I don’t really know anyone else who deserves it more than you…Plus, helping with this campaign means I am definitely on the right side of history. Everyone knows how I like to win.” He smiled at her again and things calmed down exponentially. What was she going to do without him?

Michelle didn’t know Peter’s plans for after graduation, he didn’t talk about the future much. But Michelle knew she had him now, here, alone. She hated being stuck _wondering_ about her future with Peter, she wanted to know now, while she was sure of the things around her. She pulled her feet from the ground, pivoted, and crossed her legs to face him fully. She glanced at his hair, the corners of his eyes, his shoulders, taking in every line that composed him.

“This party is going to suck.” She whispered and flicked her eyes down to his lips momentarily.

“No, it won’t,” he said just as quietly. It was hard to tell who was coming closer faster.

“Bet you twenty bucks.” M.J. barely had to speak for him to hear her at this point. He closed the distance between them in one fell swoop and their lips touched with the most gentle of meetings. Peter _was_ warm, inside and out. But he was soft and willing and eager too. He also had to pull himself up a bit to reach her, showing dedication. M.J., on the other hand, started smiling half way through, which made things messy for a bit, but she didn’t want to stop kissing Parker. She pulled at him immediately, his hair being her first target. She moved her hands slowly down to his shoulders and arms; she wasn’t planning on letting go. Peter responded just as enthusiastically, bringing his right hand to her waist and then wrapping his whole arm around her, almost pushing her back to the seat of the bench.

Altogether, M.J. was sure that it hadn’t lasted more than thirty seconds but it was as if time had stopped momentarily, like it was giving her more space to gather strength for what lay ahead. She pulled back from him abruptly and for half a second had the pleasure of seeing his face afterwards: his eyes closed as if in a trance and face a bit red, flushed and not committed to separating just yet. It was perfect.

He opened his eyes completely now and grinned at her. “You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left!! i have to apologize for the plot holes. high school has been a while and we all know we are here for the fluff anyways. not gonna lie: it's weird being on this side of those make out scenes...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading if you made it this far! I don't know how long I want to make this exactly (honestly still can't believe that I let this be more than a one-shot tbh). Please review/leave comments, I would love to incorporate some ideas/hear your thoughts!


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